


I see you

by TariTheNurse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: 2nd and 3rd pers POV, Abusive Relationships, Aliens, Angst, Asgard, Battle of New York (Marvel), Canon-Typical Violence, Chitauri - Freeform, Escapism, F/M, Fear, Fluff, POV Female Reader, Pining, Starting Over, The Avengers (2012) Spoilers, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-05
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-12 09:45:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 20,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16870681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: The magic of the old gods have granted Heimdal a gift to observe across time and space, abilities he uses dutifully for the better of the realm of Asgard. Never before has he used it for his personal gain.Finally free of your old life, you find yourself in a new city. Nothing will be as before, you promise yourself. Sometimes, though, a promise becomes more than bargained for.





	1. From a distance

A smile graced your face. A new city and a new job. How was it not supposed to be a stepping stone to a brand-new life too? This way, you could leave behind all the bad memories and rebuild yourself as you wanted to be. Happy. Not looking over your shoulder in fear of your ex. It had taken so long before you finally got away from him and his abuse, and you’d only succeeded because of your sister who coincidentally was the one that got you the contact here on New York leading to the dream job at the publisher.

Gone were the days of working three jobs just to stay out of home, despite the shitty pay and the little time it left for yourself. The job at the bookshop had been fun but offered to few hours and the pay had been below anything that was worth mentioning. At the veterinarian, you’d learned a lot when you had to help in bigger procedures or go along to the farmers’ to assist there, which was tough but fulfilling. Unfortunately, the work that gave the most hours was at the local bar, and as such it was the one job, you’d never been able to quit. As long as you dressed like a hoe and allowed some customers to get a bit handsy, you’d be guaranteed a nice, fat tip at the end of the shift. That’s where you’d found your boyfriend. He’d seemed amazing, but as soon as you moved together…he’d changed. Four years. That was how long it took before you finally admitted to someone else how bad things were. After that it only took a month and you were on your way to a better life.

When you finally arrived after hours in a cramped van and shitty motel rooms, you felt like a weight got lifted from your shoulders and chest, allowing the city-air to flow freely into your lungs as you stretched after the long ride. Yes, this was going to be your home and you knew you’d be safe.

…

The first time Heimdal laid eyes on her, it had been pure coincidence. Each day, his gaze fell on worlds and beings beyond count to ensure the safety of Asgard and its people. Such was the task of the Guardian of the Bifrost. He would stare and listen across time and space without hesitating unless something appeared to be of importance to his king, Odin.  
Heimdal had done the same that day, only to find his attention drawn back to the same Midgardian individual only seconds after his gaze had drifted by. Why? Among hundreds other, the young woman was walking through the green landscape of a vast park, everyone else confident of their place in the universe, all of them oblivious to the vastness beyond their reach…but unlike the men and women around her, this lady _saw_. She noticed the smile on the face of a child, the many yellow hues of the snapdragons, and the scurry of the ants crossing the path before her feet. None of the splendor in the universe had any worth, in Heimdal’s opinion, if you could not be amazed by the seemingly drab and inconsequential details. Studying her, the Asgardian found that her beauty laid not only in her appearance, but in the attentiveness to her surroundings which made her move like a soap bubble carried on a breeze.  
Although the task as the Bridge Keeper and Guard of Asgard required watching and listening to strangers, for once it felt like an invasion of the person’s privacy. Dragging his attention elsewhere, Heimdal fought to ignore the bright presence far away across the universe without truly being able to forget the Midgardian.

It became a routine, a habit, for Heimdal to find the woman once a day. Only for a few seconds, he swore to himself each time he studied the face with the lively [Y/E/C] eyes, or how her nose scrunched up by each new scent she encountered. Only a few seconds more, when she paused to listen to the faint trill from a bird. And so, seconds became a minute until guilt would force the Asgardian to look away into an infinity that seemed dreary without her radiance.

…

It had been another sunny day like the so many this month already. You’d taken a detour through the south-eastern corner of Central Park just to see how the little family of ducks were coming along in the Pond and to visit a particular beautiful Japanese Zelkova tree. Next time, you told yourself, you’d have to bring a book and sit there with the back against the wood and the sounds of the city reduced to a distant murmur. As you continued, the noise grew louder as a testament to the constant activity and millions of people who lived in New York. There was always something going on, and after almost three months of getting used to your new home, there’d still not been a single day where you discovered something new.

By the time you passed by the base of the Stark Tower, you saw a small plane land high above on a small pad built probably for that exact purpose, after all: the owner of the place had a thing for flying and making grand entrances whether it’d be in a suit, a helicopter or something else probably didn’t matter. In fact, you’d seen the billionaire fly in a few times already or his friends arrive in similar (though not quite as individually confined) ways. No one bats an eye at it anymore, and the only person who really seemed to care this time was an old guy with aviator sunglasses and a white moustache who was sitting outside a café. Pulling out a set of binoculars, he tried to straighten his back enough to aim the lenses at the platform. Glancing over your shoulder, you didn’t recognize the people up there, but even at this distance it was easy to tell that none of them was Iron Man.

You were almost at work, just past the Flatiron when it happened. It was the first sound, the one like electricity, that made the hairs on your arms and neck stand on end, but it was the one that followed that made you turn around to see. Nothing you knew could make that sound. Almost like a soap bubble rupturing in slow-motion, but the pop got drawn out to become a tear through which the sound escaped. Following the direction it had come from, you looked to the sky where a bright blue beam was creating a hole into the darkness off…you had to blink before you could believe it, but it was the infinity of space that lay beyond that breach in the sky.

Only a few people around you had noticed it too, however that changed when they started shouting of fear of what was appearing through the hole. They could only see the enormous, flying sea-snake-like monster and a scattered multitude of dots around it. You could see what the dots were, making your mind dig out memories from old history books about chariots used for warfare. _It’s an army. An invasion._ As you saw the horde fan out and dive between the buildings, you’d already started running back the way you’d come. Back towards the new sounds of explosions and screams that clawed at your eardrum although you were too far away still to help.


	2. Run for the Hills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster strikes in the heart of New York.

Heimdal was relieved to see Thor lift the hammer despite the warriors initial hesitation. There he stood, tall and strong in a field of green far from his ancestral home, but the young prince has grown over the years and more so during the course of events the last days. There was no doubt in the Bridge Keeper’s heart that the Midgardians would stand a significantly better chance with Thor on their side. And yet…the prince held his brother dear even after his sudden reappearance. _But where has Loki been?_ Time had passed where they all thought him dead, even the Watcher couldn’t see the adopted prince anywhere, and once he finally did return, he was but a shadow of his former self. Shrouded from the senses except when it served a purpose to be seen, and even then, looking as if suffering from a disease or a trauma.

Squinting slightly, Heimdal swept his gaze across the surface of the multi-coloured realm, searching for a sign of the Trickster. His orders had been clear: watch the sons of Odin and Laufey, but do not intervene unless directly ordered by the All-Father himself, unless to save the life of the heir to the throne.

Something tore through the fabric of the universe, causing Heimdal’s bones to vibrate with the echo, helping him to find exactly where to look. A tower in a hauntingly familiar city had become the platform from which an eerie blue beam was fired, breaching the distance between the Midgardian realm and another so far away that even the Sight couldn’t bring it into view. But what passed through the passage were clear enough, spelling out the destruction and doom unless the odd group of heroes and Thor arrived in time. Hundreds of Chitauri on their chariots and even Leviathans were entering a world with only one goal: annihilation. If any civilians were to survive, they’d be enslaved and tortured in the worst imaginable ways.

He was searching for the unnamed woman even before he realized. Within seconds, streets and buildings were scrutinized while Heimdal prayed to the ancestors that she wouldn’t be there, that something had brought her out of the city.

…

 _This was not, _you admitted to yourself, _very well thought through._ Twice, you’d been pushed over by people trying to flee the chaos of the (rather one-sided) battle, and you knew it’d show as bruising along your hips and arms, not to mention the road rash on your left elbow. A couple of times, parts of buildings had landed too close to you for comfort, forcing you to bite back shrieks of shock. The closer you’d gotten to the heavy fighting, the slower your progress had been because you had to stay low to avoid becoming a target.

Hunched behind an overturned car, you kept counting your breaths in the hope that you could stave off a panic. Only ten feet more, and you’d be by the bus where you could hear someone screaming for help. Pressing your fists against your knees, you felt how the plastic of the bags you were clutching was becoming slippery with sweat. A backpack would’ve been great just about then, or one of those military utility belts, but there’d been neither when you raided an abandoned pharmacy along the way, grabbing everything that could be used for first aid. Did you have experience patching up humans? No. But in the end the principle ought to be close enough because it were all mammals after all, and some help would be better than none. So, there you were, running towards danger in the hopes that at least one extra person could make it out of there alive.

“Okay, [Y/N],” you whispered to yourself, “you can do this. One more deep breath and then a short sprint.”

It sounded more reassuring that it felt. Holding back a slight nausea, you got onto your feet while still crouching and peered past the back bumper of the car. Several of the flying chariot-things flew across the street in the intersection beyond the bus, but at least you couldn’t see any of their ground troops. Scanning the buildings, you saw smoke billowing out a shattered window accompanied with the odd sound of the aliens’ weapons and the broken screams of humans that ended too sudden for your liking. You knew it was as good a chance as you were going to get. Digging the ball of your foot into the asphalt, you propelled yourself forward praying silently that you’d make it all the way into the bus.

Although it hadn’t been much of a distance, your heart was working frantically like a jackhammer on overdrive and your lungs just couldn’t expel enough CO2, making your head spin. As a result, the interior of the bus was tipping, reminding you of the one time you’d been on a ferry during rough seas. Grabbing a seat with a hole burned through the back of it, you steadied yourself until you felt it was safe to search for whoever had been calling out.

A few seats away from the exit was a foot with a once-white sneaker sticking out from between the rows on the right. Now it was covered with dirt and red flecks that you didn’t want to focus on. Staying hunched, you hurried over and came face to face with a boy who might just have cracked into the teenage-years, but he was just a kid in this moment. Scared and hurt.

“Hey, buddy,” despite whispering, you tried to keep your voice light, “I’m [Y/N].”

“M-Malik.”

Small beads of sweat were adorning his forehead and you could see his lips losing colour. “Alright, Malik.” I need you to tell me where you’re hurt, can you do that?”

Instead of saying anything, he lifted the dark t-shirt to show piece of shrapnel lodged in his side. Removing it would worsen the bleeding, but it didn’t look like he could move with the foreign object still embedded.

“Okay…right…Malik here’s the thing…” you bit your lip as you rummaged in the plastic back for anything you needed, “this’s gonna hurt a shitload. I’ve only got normal painkillers and it won’t work fast enough.”

While you explain how you would have to pull out the metal and plug the hole before bandaging everything as tightly as possible, the poor kid listened with widening eyes. The prospect honestly wasn’t appealing, but if he could get on his feet, then he could head out the way you’d come and eventually make it to someone who’d be able to help him properly. Anything was better than staying here. As if on cue, a barrage of alien shots damaged the front of the bus to the point where it was no longer recognizable.

“Ready?”

He nodded, biting down hard on the nearest seat to muffle the scream.

…

Heimdal’s attention was divided between the enemies, the unlikely band of heroes…and the partially hidden woman. She was attending to the wound of a young male, unaware of the danger that was closing in on them as the Chitauri were finishing their atrocities inside the buildings and taking to the street once more.


	3. (Don't Fear) The Reaper

Half carrying and half supporting Malik, you sidestepped the way to the back exit of the bus. Explosions were going off in the distance, each one sending rumbling tremors through the ground and into your body. You’d already heard them before you craned your neck past the last seat to look through the thick, tinted glass with the splinters and cracks forming a thickly woven spiderweb: heavily armoured and carrying a crossover between a gun and a spear, the aliens walking the wrong way, in your modest opinion. _Crap._ Looking down at Malik, you tried to put up as brave a face as he did. _Double crap!_ At least the kid had noticed them yet, because all he was focusing on was staying upright in spite of the pain and the blood-loss that made his face ashen, void of any warm glow a kid like his should have.

Glancing out again, you saw the group of invaders had come to a halt, all of them swinging their heads slowly from side to side like serpents searching for prey. The moment you’d made the comparison, you realized they’d caught your scent. As if to confirm, the enemy closest to the bus reached up and yanked the vizor off. It had no nose in the grey-tinted face and the cheeks were more than simply sunken…it looked like they were missing, granting a view to a mouth full of sharp teeth-like structures. But its eyes were the worst. Small, beady, locked unblinkingly onto you. The clicking shriek of one of its fellows broke the trance, alerting all of them to something outside your field of vision.

…

Heimdal let go of a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Where the Chitauri had stood was now a raging fire, burning through the twisted limbs and corpses the explosion had created. _Too close._ The Midgardians were arriving, but it was a battle against an unstoppable river, and although their efforts were valiant, he could clearly see the growing desperation on their faces. None except Thor had faced such a foe.

 _I’ve sworn an oath to the All-Father,_ Heimdal reminded himself, _not to interfere lest to save the prince._ It was a test. Standing by idly as he watched innocents get slaughtered at the hands of an old antagonist. A host let by a former child of Asgard no less. Tearing his gaze away, Heimdal refound Loki atop the tower with the name of the Man of Iron upon it. The pale-faced trickster was standing face to face with his adoptive brother, from the looks of it finally listening to reason and the deepfelt hope laced into each word that fell from the blond Asgardian’s lips. Both the brothers and the watcher knew what was at stake: come willingly…or risk death. Many has tried to kill Asgardians and Frost Giants throughout the eons, finding it to be a difficult task. Not impossible, though. Loki appeared healthier than when he first came to the unprepared world, and the haunted look upon his face that made him pale, granting him a gaunt look, was due to something else than the fear of battle or even execution. Remorse flickered in the momentarily emerald eyes but was replaced with icy blue as quickly as the blade was slit between the ribs of the blond warrior.

To someone not familiar with the physique of the Asgardians, Heimdal’s lack of reaction might’ve appeared callous, but his people were hardy, and the cut would heal quickly, making it a symbolic gesture rather than carrying any tactical purpose. _Mocking or pretence?_ Even as the slender form of the former prince rolled over the edge of the platform, Heimdal could not convince himself that it had been a brazen attempt to please someone else while avoiding to carry out an order…and order to kill anyone in Loki’s way. Lifting his eyes towards the distant sky, there was no higher in command to see, however.

…

It had been hard to part ways with Malik, but you’d managed to get him to a small group of people who were fleeing Manhattan, and one of them had turned out to be a doctor. She had looked at you as if you were crazy when you said you were going back. Who could blame her? No one in their right mind would volunteer to do that.

The idea of using the subway tunnels was appealing as you moved from overturned vehicles to broken entries where debris served as makeshift shields. Glancing over the rubble you saw the stairs leading down to the sheltering underground system, and you were about to sprint towards it when a large cloud of smoke and flames blasted from the passage, carrying trash and a horrible stench with the heat. _Not using the tunnels._ Instead, you hurried to the corner of the building and pressed your back against the concrete, trying to blend into the shadows.

Too far for you to reach in one sprint was a group of cops that were busy evacuating civilians and organizing some way of containing the invasive forces even if it seemed like a hopeless task. It didn’t deter them, and every once in a while, when one of them would look on the verge of giving up, he or she would glance towards the Park Avenue Viaduct. Up ahead on the bridge, was a strange sight. An odd group of people were assembled there, two of them were strangers to you, but one was easily recognizable. _Captain America._ Everyone knew him from the history books and seeing him and his friends in action, it made sense why people had considered him a hero because they made quick work of the deadly aliens that kept coming from all sides and dropping from the surrounding buildings.

A blinding array of jagged lightnings struck throughout the area simultaneously. Blinking against the flash that had been scorched on your retinas, it took a couple of seconds before you could make out the smoking corpses of what used to be aliens. Right then and there, no enemy was alive to challenge the small group of heroes who now had been joined by a large man wearing nothing less than a cape. It would’ve looked stupid on anyone else, but you had to admit it worked on this man. _Not the time._ Grabbing the opportunity, you made a beeline for the cops and were immediately put to work as soon as you’d stated your ability.

Perhaps that’s what distracted you from the surroundings and the development. You vaguely noted the extra turmoil but were busy tending to a broken ankle until its owner pulled away, flinging himself sideways to the ground and dragging you along. Where you had stood a moment before, a large slab of concrete, with a splintering granite layer on one side, slammed into the ground with enough force that the police cars shuddered and you felt yourself bounce on the asphalt. The cop was scrambling to tie a knot on the supportive fabric on his limb when a new shadow fell over him and you, just as you got onto your feet. There was no name for the monstrosity. Metal, flesh and bones in one messy construction was succumbing to gravity, allowing itself to fall onto the bridge right above the cops’ makeshift field post. You saw in slow-motion how the thinner end of the thing crushed the railing, spurring your body to leap towards the injured cop and shove him with all your might away from the debris and the extraterrestrial giant of whatever-the-hell-that-was. It wasn’t just something that collided with your shoulders and back. It was everything. You had time to realize that you felt no pain, even as you were flattened against the ground and the air knocked out of your lungs. You also saw an odd shimmer just as darkness took over.


	4. Ramble on

The benefit of seeing across time and space is that the viewer can see what is happening without any delay whatsoever. He or she can, if truly powerful and the Old Gods are willing, even slow down the passing of time. This is not to say that they can stop it or that they can continuously tamper with the flow – a river can only be held back for a short while until the leaking dam gives way under the pressure of the restrained water. In this aspect, time works similar. Scientists of the young world known as Midgard do not know this yet. They cannot with their lack of knowledge and simple technology. Asgardians, however, have millennia of wisdom and scientific prowess to fuel their understanding of the multiverses.

As Heimdal sees the green colossus collide with the Chitauri Leviathan, he knows it will crush anything in it’s fall. Furthermore, he knows he has no choice but to break the vow he has sworn to the All-Father. The monster has already reached a vertical position when the Keeper of Bifrost springs into action, scanning the pavement for any sign of the woman.

He sees her too late, the shadow of the beast stretching far beyond where she stands, the figure frail and tiny in comparison as tons of dead alien bears down on her. She’s not running away, but rather further under it.

“All-Fathers,” the words gush from him as he reaches for the sword, “grant me the time to save a life of one who’s worthy.”

Slowing to a steady dripple, like honey from a spoon, time seems to disengage its grip on Heimdal. Slotting the two-hander into Bifrost’s mechanism, he feels the humming from the engines powering up until he releases the bridge to surge towards the destination. The bright, fragmented lights hurtle across the vast distance between the two realms. _Too slow, too late._ Already the dam is breaking from the pressure of the restrained time. Sweat is forming in his palms, making the hands slip slightly despite the iron-grip on the cross guard. A desert has been run through his throat, removing any moisture there used to be. _Faster,_ he spurs Bifrost on as the woman’s body disappears from view. The man she was near tumbles free of the Chitauri creature. _She pushed him_. The tail of the Leviathan creates an oddly soft sound on impact with her, but it’s drowned for most in the howling of the winds that carry the bridge. Bright light bathes where she stood less than a second ago, and Heimdal has to use all of his skill to bend the light, forcing it to reach her where she lies beneath the monster before reversing the direction of the passage from Asgard.

It takes much too long before the passengers arrive in the observatory and he can shut off the connection. What can be seen at first is only the tip of the tail belonging to the beast, and Heimdal has to push and heave to lift it free from the broken body beneath. Shoving it unceremoniously over the edge and into the abyss, he fears which state the human is in when he turns. Creating a link to lady Frigga, Heimdal shares his observations, begging for the healers’ assistance to save her. _Still alive._ Barely, though. Her breathing is rapid and shallow, blood trickles from mouth and nose with each rattling gasp for air, and already a pallor is setting in with an accent of yellow.

“Hold on, observer.” It’s nothing more than a whisper in her ear. “I will not let you pass without seeing the wonders of the multiverses.”

…

Heimdal had had to stay behind in the observatory, keeping his post as the Guard of Asgard and Keeper of the Bifrost, and to witness the events that unfolded in the Midgardian city where his former prince sought to kill and conquer. And although the tales would be many and grand, depicting the heroism of Thor and the Midgardian heroes…the distant watcher found it challenging to focus mentally on the events in the distant realm. His mind was on the foreign woman fighting for her life even under the care of the best healers and Frigga herself. As soon as he could, Heimdal promised himself, he would find someone to take his place in the observatory for the rest of the day.

…

The darkness comes and goes, but each time it lifts to reveal a fuzzy world it also brings pain with it, making you cry and even whimper or groan silently even though it takes your breath away.

Voices talk gibberish around you, until as soft hand strokes tears away from your cheeks. “Don’t be afraid, dear,” the owner (a woman) says, “we’re here to help you.”

Then a warm wave of numbness washes over you, making your eyelids too heavy. The painkiller together with the gentle woman calms you, chases the rumble of a panic away, allowing the few thoughts you can identify to fool you that you’ll be okay. Someone’s taking care of things. No one seems to be fighting. _Everything’s alright._ You welcome the sleep without any questions.

At some point, you’re vaguely aware of being moved, but the drowsiness alienates your mind from what’s happening, and you drift back into a dreamless sleep.

…

It’s a rare sight to see Heimdal running along Bifrost and through the capital of Asgard. Because of his magic, he has no need to hurry because any important message is passed to him from great distances or he can relay any news he has by sharing his senses with the intended recipient. As a result, physical exertion is only needed for training or combat. Yet there he is, feet pounding now on the stone slaps with the golden mortar in between, causing those he rush by to stop and stare after him.

“Has something happened to prince Thor?”

“What could cause Heimdal to look so worried?”

“Is there trouble at the palace?”

The whispered comments don’t go unnoticed by the running Bridge-Keeper, however he neither has the time to explain nor the interest in people knowing of the situation. Getting to the Midgardian’s side is first priority, still the woman’s presence will not be condoned by the king and Heimdal knows she will be cast out without delay if Odin finds out by accident. The news _must_ come from Heimdal himself or lady Frigga.

Ignoring the guards at the gates, the amber-eyed god barges through, his steps slowed to a brisk pace but his heartrate still as rapid as before. Keen ears work hard to pick up any chatter about the outlander as he climbs stairs and hurries through long halls and bringing him to more stairs. _Nothing._ Since moving her from the healing beds, there’s been very little talk about her which of course can be explained by the strict order Frigga has given the healers and anyone else involved…but Heimdal fears the worst even as he comes to a skidding halt by the door leading to the chamber. _Two hearts beating._ The handmaiden positioned outside looks disapprovingly at him, but lets him in.

The man barely acknowledges the queen even as she stands from the chair by the bed. The only thing he has eyes for is the frail and greyed figure in the bed. Even as she lies peacefully, he can see the many bandages and the discoloration of her skin and there’s hardly any movement when she breathes with a wheezing sound that makes the small hairs on his body stand on end.

“We have done what we can, Heimdal,” Frigga’s gentleness brings him out of the stupor, “she’s strong, your Midgardian.”

Swallowing hard, the Bridge-Keeper attempts to bring his own voice under control. “She’s not mine.”

The sly smile that Loki had adopted at a young age plays on the queen’s lips. She’s wise, often capable of understanding the people much better than her husband, although she would never presume to claim this herself. Counselling and diplomacy are among her talents, and she uses them in subtle manners, often leaving the counterpart with the impression that they themselves came with the suggestion or realization.

“I will do my best to keep her presence secret and, if the news should spread, to convince the All-Father to wait with sending her away until she has recovered.”

“Will she…?” The fear that the foreign woman might not survive is prominent.

A soft hand pats him gently on the lower arm. “Only time will tell. The healers have done all they can for now.”


	5. Sunrise

_Oooooowwww._ Everything hurts. It feels to you as though white-hot iron is skewering you when you try to breathe, you head (including your face) is throbbing, you arms and legs ache, and on top of it all, your nose is itching. In the middle of all the misery, it’s the itchiness that bothers you the most. Blinking against the sunlight, you try to see if your limbs are attached at all or if the pain comes from having them chopped off, but they’re there alright. _That’s why it still hurts._ One is wrapped tightly in a spindly cast and fixes with the elbow bent, but your left is free. Lifting it from the fluffy furs covering you enhances the pain, prompting you to give up with an exasperated groan. Coincidentally, that hurts too.

A deep voice calls from somewhere else in the room. “Healer? She’s suffering.”

You can’t see the person clearly, only the tall shape in golden and dark brown hues. Like anything else further away than a meter he disappears in a kaleidoscopic blur. _Where am I?_ The pain makes it hard to think, let alone remember, and you just hope that whoever’s here will take care of you.

“My dear, can you hear me?” This time it’s a woman talking.

You don’t dare to nod, fearing how bad that would feel with your head already pounding like crazy. “Hngnhhh…”

“That’s good,” somehow, she must’ve understood the message, “you’re safe now. We’ll take care of you until you’re feeling well. Just rest.”

Her words and a blissfully numbing feeling steals a sigh from you before sleep reclaims you.

…

The sun travels across the sky, slanting its healthy light through the windows and onto the bed with the broken woman. She looks small and frail, almost like a child, as she lies oblivious to the world around her. _I still don’t know her name._ Getting up from the chair by her side, Heimdal crosses over to the low table in the corner where her belongings have been left and begins to rummage through the pockets and a purse until he finds a flat, leather container with several flat, polymer cards, many of them bearing the same name: [Y/L/N, Y /N].

“Lady [Y/N]…” Testing the foreign name, the Bridge-Keeper likes the way it sounds. “I will watch over you, lady [Y/N].”

And he does. Never once leaving your side, Heimdal guards you faithfully, rejoicing in the small changes that prove your will to survive. Slowly, a bit of the healthy glow returns to your skin and your breathing becomes steadier although it’s still restrained due to bandages that help stabilize your ribcage. What he keeps admiring is your face. It radiates with the beauty of one sees the wonders in everything. Calm and, even in you current state, filled with an honest curiosity and openness.

Heimdal stays at your side all through the night without once drifting off himself. In the early hours, when the light is still grey, one of the healers practically shoves him out of the room under strict orders to get some rest himself, something he only agrees to if she promises on her honour to call him if anything changes or you stir just the slightest.

In the end, Heimdal barely allows himself more than two hours of sleep and a minimum of necessities before returning to the place by your bedside. Quiet and watchful. Praying to the All-Fathers that you may live.

…

This time the memories come first. Not clear and organized but fragmented into showers of frightening shards that you’d rather ward off than have to face. The problem is, of course, that it’s impossible to ignore anything like that. Horrors aren’t easily ignored. Reliving the last moment of a crushing fear ( _no…a crushing everything_ ), you arrive at the conclusion that you must’ve died. How else can it be as quiet as it is? It’s almost comfortable, in fact? Sure, there’s a pain, bit it’s mostly dulled although you’re sure that’s just temporarily. Also, there’s the fact that you’re lying on and under something soft and you can feel a fresh breeze that hint of the summer holidays far away from smelly cities, just a cottage and maybe a bonfire in the evening.

 _So, where am I?_ Listening carefully, you hear the sounds of ocean and life outside the window to your right. Inside the room is only your own silent noise for a while until you managed to separate that from the heartbeat and breathing of someone else. _Slow, strong heart. Calm breaths._  
It’s a lot trickier to open your eyes and focus, but even that you manage, noticing the brightness of the room. White walls and amber wood on beams and a wavy ceiling cocoons the place, compensating for the hard, stone floor beyond the big bed you lie in. _A bed from a fairy-tale._ Beautiful carvings in dark wood, exquisite, white silk and fluffy pillows, all of which pales next to the massive fur covering your lower half. Looking beyond the nearest surroundings, you see the deep-set windows, a door that must be leading out of the room, various furniture (and what looks like a pile of your belongings) and then the man.

There’s no doubt he was the one calling for the nurse in your jumble of memories, because you recognize the shape and warm hues. Nothing could have prepared you. A tender smile’s on his big lips that makes you feel both safe and incredibly shy, but his eyes… _oh man! His eyes!_ You can’t settle on what they remind you of the most: honey or gold or amber. But either way, they’re the kind of eyes that you’ve only read about in books or seen in really old people. This man has seen things no one else has, and it has made him wise and kind. A rare trait.

“It’s good to see you’re awake, lady [Y/N].” The smile could’ve knocked the air from your lungs if they’d been able to hold much air. ”How are you feeling?”

 _Where to begin?_ “I’m fi–“ you start to croak before having to give up talking. Guessing the problem, the man quickly gets a cup with water and helps you drink. _That was good._ “Thank you.” You almost regret when he lets your head back on the pillow and retreats. “I’m fine for now…all things considered. Where am I?”

“You’re in Valhalla.” Eyes like embers flickers across your face for any sign of a reaction. “My name is Heimdal, Keeper of the Bifrost and protector of Asgard where king Odin rules. His son, Thor, was in your world and fought against the invaders.”

The corresponding memories jump at you, screaming louder for attention than the footsteps beyond the door. “Invaders. In New York. Did…are they…?”

“Midgard, your world, is safe.”

You let out a breath, one you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. “Thank goodness.” Tears are stinging your eyes, and you turn your face away to keep the man, Heimdal, from seeing it. The tall windows show you blue skies and snow-capped mountains in the distance. “How did I get here? Did you use Bifrost?”

Before you’ve finished the question, the door opens abruptly and an elderly man with an eyepatch steps in, making Heimdal jump to his feet and bow.

“Yes, he defied orders and interfered in the events on Midgard, bringing you back here despite the _very_ clear order not to bring your kind here.” Odin’s furious, barely managing to keep his voice in check.


	6. Eye

Growing up and working at the bookshop, the ethereal world of myths and fairy tales had fascinated you. The Brothers Grimm, H.C. Andersen, and of course Nordic Mythology were some of your means to escape your harsh reality before finding the support to get away for real.

As such, you know the stories that have been written down after centuries of oral tradition, leaving a very wide margin for error and contemporary interpretation of the people penning the legends. It doesn’t match 100%, that much is clear. Even so, there’s no doubt that you’re looking at Odin, king of the Aesir, followed by his entourage or guards and a kind and slightly exasperated-looking woman. _Frigga?_ She catches your gaze and smiles reassuringly from behind her husband.

“Heimdal,” the All-Father announces brashly, “if you do not return her at once, then you’ll be held in contempt and someone else will accomplish the task and your title as Keeper of Bifrost until I’ve decided what to do about you and your treasonous act.”

 _I’ll have to move!_ The thought alone makes your bones feel as if they are being stabbed with icy spikes. Instinctually, you look to Heimdal as the panic begin to seethe in your chest, and your dread is strengthened when you see his eyes widened, his chest expanding with a deep inhale. He doesn’t get to talk though.

“My king and husband,” Frigga softly interjects, “bear in mind that returning her to Midgard will threaten her life, which in turn will leave an unfortunate impression with her people who are still finding their place in a world much bigger than they thought.” She’s come around to stand before the old, bearded regent and takes his hands. “Thor has taken it upon himself to protect that realm, aiding them and showing them a way that not only is a righteous path but also one that in the future could make them our allies. Would we not risk undoing his work and sending the Midgardians down a darker path if we show no mercy?”

The bumping of a confused bumblebee trying to get in through the window glass is the only immediate sound. For a king who’s supposed to be wise, he still looks as silly as anyone else when they’ve unexpectedly been hit with hard logic. Opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, Odin scowls at his wife before shooting cold glances at both Heimdal and yourself.

“I do believe, my dear, that you’re twisting words of reason to fit your whims.” The All-Father huffs in defeat. “Fortunately, Thor has returned not long ago, and I shall confer with him on how we can go about this without risking a future alliance with the Midgardians.” Turning on his heel, he’s almost out of the room when he pauses and looks back. “Do not assume, any of you, that there won’t be consequences.”

Three people are in the room when the door closes, making you feel increasingly nervous as you know you are the odd one out. _They’re in trouble because of me._ After a wordless offer and denial, Heimdal reclaims his seat while the queen takes place on the edge of the bed. Although you should know not to, the reaction to move to create more space for her overpowers your brain until the pain rolls through your body again, making you wince. Giving up, you fight back the nausea. _If I went home…I can’t afford the care I need!_ The thoughts are getting harder to hold on to as the agony holds you in its grip, and you’re only vaguely aware of the soft hand that takes yours.

“[Y/N], do not worry,” Frigga’s voice comes from far away like an angel’s, “we will not send you away yet. Just rest, heal, my child.”

…

The eyelashes flutter momentarily before coming to a rest together with the no longer rapid breathing. To Heimdal, the seiðr queen Frigga possesses is a blessing from the All-Fathers as he sees the frail patient fall asleep free of pain. His own abilities are different in nature, more limited too, leaving him with the basic knowledge of remedies to alleviate any suffering like the one that turned the Midgardian’s face ashen and called forth tiny beads of cold sweat.

“Thank you, m’lady.”

Smiling as if she’s in on a jest, Frigga nods to Heimdal. “It’s my genuine pleasure. She will sleep for a while again, but when she wakes, she’ll likely be hungry.”

“Yes.”

Heimdal’s golden eyes are fixed on the patient. For once he’s lost to the rest of the world which he normally spends every waking second observing for anything of interest to Asgard. _How peculiar,_ the Keeper muses, _something so…seemingly simple can has such importance._ The idea warms him.

…

Next time you wake, the sun has set and it’s the light of the moons and stars that… _waaait a second!_ Looking through the window again, you make sure that you see clearly, but it’s true: there are two moons. One is much smaller than the other, though, but it’s their light that illuminates the room. Turning your head carefully, you feel some of the pain has subsided (whether it’s due to painkillers, you don’t know). The queen is gone, but Heimdal’s sitting the same place as before, the only difference being that his head’s leaning against the backrest of the chair as the only support to keep it from lolling to the side or onto his chest. A soft snore can be heard now and then from the man, who’s slid down in the seat with his legs stretched before him, crossing at the ankles, and his fingers interlocked over his stomach.

When he’s asleep, you find that he’s downright beautiful to the point where you lose track of time until the cold light from outside leaves his face. Then you feel your body aching, your throat screaming for liquid. Holding your breath in an effort to counter the hurt, you try to wiggle to a more comfortable position, but it’s not enough to stop tears from forming and tracing down the cheeks before you finally give up, getting stuck mid-movement.

“Allow me to assist, lady [Y/N].”

The voice is deep and soothing, making it all too easy to surrender and allow him to slide his strong arms under your body. Even if he’s gentle it still hurts terribly but feeling Heimdal’s strength and warmth makes it worth it. _Cinnamon and warm sand._ Inhaling as deep as possible, you let his scent wash over you and bring with it a sense of security you were craving since your ran back toward the attack home in New York. Giving in, your head rests against his shoulder.

…

Heimdal’s trying to support the Midgardian as much as possible without causing too much pain, a task that seems impossible when he shifts the frail body further up in the bed before freeing the arm that was under her knees. Awkwardly he reaches to fluff the pillows, bringing him so near that he can smell the residue of stone-dust that lingers in her still dirty hair and the smell of fresh linen and citrus fruits. The moment [Y/N] tilts her head to lean against him, the Keeper of Bifrost feels his heart skip a beat and he has to force himself to lay the woman back.

“Thank you, Heimdal.” Her voice is soft and her [Y/E/C] eyes battle the moonlight in beauty.

Still too close for modesty, the Asgardian smiles at her. “It’s my honour.”

“Why?”

“I…it was…” haltingly, Heimdal tries to explain without making her feel uncomfortable by telling the entire truth, “the opportunity arose where it might be possible to prevent you from –“ Turning his back to the bed, the man busies himself with filling a jug with fresh water. “Please. Let us not talk about such things just yet, instead let me help you with what you need. I can arrange for some food for you?”

When [Y/N] doesn’t answer, the Watcher turns around reluctantly to meet her scrutinizing gaze. It’s the same attention to detail that captivated him the first time he laid eyes on her. Pupils are narrowing and dilating to study the slightest twitch in Heimdal’s facial expression; the head’s cocked to better hear his breathing, the swallowing of saliva, or even any change in his heartbeat; the Asgardian even sees the delicate flaring of nostrils as she subconsciously breathes in the pheromones that reveal more than he wishes.

“Some food might be good,” she relinquishes, “but on one condition…”

“Tell me.”

The first real smile since the day of Loki’s attack brightens her face. “You tell me about this place and yourself, because what I’ve read doesn’t seem to be entirely true.”

“Of course, my lady.”


	7. Unwritten

At first, things were happening in a fog, obscuring facts and swallowing memories. More than once, you were told, you had insisted that your sister must be told that you were alive, and just as often you’d be comforted by Heimdal or Frigga telling you that it was sorted, and all you should worry about was getting better.

You spend more time asleep than you first had expected. Of course, it will take a lot of energy for your body to recover, not to mention that the Asgardian healers aren’t stingy with the painkillers that make you drowsy, but there’s something else that you can’t quite identify to begin with, and whatever it is, it makes you drift off mid-conversation without much warning.

As a result, it has taken you and Heimdal a long time to get through the recent events back home (when you finally heard that it was Loki behind the attacks and that he was awaiting sentence in a prison, you tried to get out of bed to go and tell him off and possibly punch him – for obvious reasons that didn’t work out), and learning about the Asgardian culture was turning into a multi-chapter saga of it’s own.

“No but wait!” You are protesting to Heimdal’s heritage. “So, you really do have just one mom?”

“Yes…” catching the way you tilt your head, he continues curiously, “is this not common in Midgard?”

Of course, there are various family constellations depending on culture and personal preferences, so two dads and a mom isn’t that strange. The reason it makes you hesitate has to do with the myths in which it’s claimed that the Bridge-Keeper should have no fathers at all but eleven mothers. Does it make sense? No. But neither does a rainbow bridge or an eight-legged horse. Meeting Heimdal’s eyes, you feel your cheeks heat and you try not to focus on the growing smile as you stammering attempt to explain. His deep, rolling laughter when you’ve finished is contagious. It sweeps you up and carries you along on a great sea of warm comfort where ships with doubt and shyness sink, leaving room for an unconcerned happiness even when you end up laughing too much and the pain returns with a vengeance, silencing you and stealing your breath away.

“I’m sorry, my lady –“

“[Y/N]!” You’re trying to get him to use your first name only, but he’s reluctant.

Smiling crookedly, the god nods. “[Y/N].” The way he pronounces it, makes it sound like it has a deeper, richer meaning. “I didn’t mean to hurt you by laughing,” he explains, “yet…that particular story was born as a prank by a pair of young, mischievous princes. They stole their father’s horse and went to Midgard, this would’ve been nigh a thousand of your years ago, and those that recognized them as who they were…” A flicker of sadness crosses the handsome face, distancing the golden eyes.

For a moment the only sounds are from the world outside the windows. Out there, the sun’s getting low and its radiant colours are reflected off the snow on the mountain tops. _I wonder if I’ll get to see more of Asgard before they send me home?_ Squinting, you find where the last trees on the steep, jagged sides and where a ravine has cleared a broad path across the lower growths above the treeline.

Turning back, you find Heimdal still lost in memory with his large hands clasped loosely between the knees and the urge to reach out overwhelms you. Your hand is small as your fingers close gently around his, startling him at first before returning the gesture and allowing your thumb to rub gentle patterns around his knuckles.

…

“Father, I must say that I agree with both Heimdal and mother on this matter.”

Looking towards Thor, it strikes the Keeper of Bifrost that the young prince has still to smile since his return to Asgard. _What does he have to smile about?_ True, the battle has been won, however he lost his brother in the symbolic sense in the process, and to the older brother Loki was as a close friend and trustworthy companion once. Someone who was always there. The reasonable and calmer of the two. Now the adopted relative sits in a cell, refusing to see anyone or acknowledge the relations formerly shared, while Thor has acquired a wisdom vastly superior to the boy that he was a few years ago.

“You would grant her haven? For how long, my son?” Despite the kind moniker, Odin’s voice is cold, carrying the disinterest in the Midgardians whom he thinks of as lesser. “Until she’s well enough to be moved or maybe until she has healed completely? She will be a burden to us although we carry no responsibility for her or her realm.”

“Loki’s our responsibility, whether you want it or not.” Sighing deeply, there’s no challenge or anger in Thor. “The people of Midgard have been thrust into an infinitely larger reality than they were prepared for. They are frightened…lost. Without guidance, they will stumble and fall in their foolish naivety unless we show them a better way than they would choose on their own. Father, if we do not grant this girl the same honours as we would a hero, then we are no better than they are, and we do not deserve Midgard’s respect.”

Although Frigga doesn’t say a word, the troublemaker who has brought the foreigner in question to the Asgard can sense the queens pride and excitement at the direction the discussion is moving. A twinkle of a smile is in her eye even as she looks down to hide it, and it causes Heimdal to feel as though they are two children smirking over a well-played prank that a parent is defending, just as it had been once.

“Fine!” Tossing his hands in the air, Odin finally gives in. “She can stay for now and we will take up the matter once she has recovered.” A clear blue eye bores into a pair of amber. “I hold you responsible for her and any action of hers while she’s here. You will not return to your duties before she’s gone! Your only task is to make sure she stays out of trouble.”

Bowing deeply, Heimdal radiates calm. “Yes, your highness.”

…

The day arrives where you can move your feet and the good arm without paling from the agony. That’s the day where you ask what is going to happen, when you will be told to leave. Valhalla isn’t your home, as Odin so clearly had pointed out, and you know that you’re going to have to face the facts and leave even if you don’t really want to.

Frigga and a few healers are fluffing the pillows and adding more to guarantee enough support to sit up against them after they’ve helped wash and turn you to prevent bed sores.

“Queen Frigga,” you begin nervously, fiddling with the clean linen, “I’m very, _very_ grateful for the kindness you’ve all shown me…for saving my life…”

When you don’t continue right away, she sinks down on the edge of the bed and takes your hands. “You can speak openly. Don’t worry, dear child.”

“I know, I’m not supposed to be here…what I mean to say is,” watching her slender hands rest effortlessly on the fur calms you enough to finish, “when will I have to leave?”

 _Don’t I want to leave?_ New York is your home. The first place you’ve felt free and safe after leaving your then-boyfriend. So what, if you’d only been there a few months, there were people you cared about and who, hopefully, cared about you. Like your new colleagues. And the old widower that always had his little folding chair out and sat by the corner to watch people walk by. The curious kid next door. Too often you wonder how they’re doing, until you remind yourself that there neither was nor is anything you can do about them right now, and that their lives will go on easily. Afterall…it was just three months since you moved to the city.

“If you wish, then we can bring you back to Midgard now…” the queen admits, “however, you’re welcome to stay as long as needed for your recovery.”

The smile on your face is not simply from the light feeling after a worry has been lifted of your shoulders, rather it’s from a warm glow within you at the thought of getting to spend more time with – _Oh! Stop it!_ Scolding yourself doesn’t erase the visage in your mind of a man with eyes like liquid gold and skin the vibrant richness as mother earth would have.

“I trust you have found good company, but don’t hesitate to ask for anything.”

The slight smirk and playful glimmer in her eyes makes you suspect that she knows more than she says openly, which shouldn’t surprise you as that is exactly what the myths you used to read had said. _But what’s real and what’s just stories?_ There’s so much still to figure out.


	8. I Wont Say (I'm in Love)

Heimdal has become accustomed to simply entering the room of the Midgardian without knocking as he fears it would wake her otherwise, and more often that not she’s been asleep upon his arrival. Not this time. This time she’s seated, resting against a mountain of pillows, with an open book in her lap, and a faraway look turned to the scenery outside the windows.

“My la–[Y/N],” he manages to correct himself in the last moment, still lingering at the door, “may I enter?”

“Of course!” She beams at him.

The last few days, she’s spent short periods sitting up and the healers have their hands full restoring the Midgardian’s muscles now that her bones are starting to fuse. [Y/N] has been surpassing their expectations and follows their instructions to the detail…save one. Taking place in the usual chair, Heimdal takes note of her shallow breathing.

“I hear you’re making Idun and her healers worry?” Though the (momentarily suspended) bridge-keeper talks with a playful tone, his amber eyes are full of concern.

Glancing away, [Y/N] shrugs carefully. “Idun is great at her job. They all are,” she admits without meeting the dark man’s gaze, “they just…I don’t want all the painkillers they’ve been giving me.” Closing the book, she adds softly: “At least not during the day.”

“Why not? I can see you’re in pain.”

Her [Y/E/C] eyes meet his with a fierceness worthy of a warrior. “I won’t have a lot of time here on Asgard. I’m _not_ gonna miss out on _anything_ just because of a few broken bones!”

…

 _Crap._ You hadn’t meant to yell and now you pay twice the price as the pain from your broken ribs turns the world fuzzy white until you catch your restricted breath. And yell at Heimdal? It’s the last thing he deserves after having not just saved you, but also stuck up for you. And the hours he’s spend keeping you company when you were lying scared and hurting in a strange place? No, he deserves more.

“I’m sorry, Heimdal…” you sigh, finally meeting his gaze that’s full of warmth and something more that makes your heart flutter, “I didn’t mean to yell at you. I’m just…I want to see it all, you know.”

Afraid to say more, you turn away again to look across the green plains dotted by lakes and river, bordered by forests and hills that grow in size the closer to the mountains you gaze. _There IS nothing else to say._ You’ve already thanked him for saving your life so often that he’s threatened with deportation if you do it again. Truth be told, you’re not sure you want to leave. You love New York because it’s far from your hometown and your abusive ex, and nothing in the big city reminds you of your old home and as such of him. Since moving there, you’ve been aware that that’s the logical reason for feeling so free and happy. It’s not the city itself, but the constant bustle that kept you busy. Distracted. Being here, in Asgard, where you can breathe the clean air once more and hear the sounds of the world without the constant human made noise…well…it’s something that brought you a peace.

A large, calloused hand takes yours gently, and you can feel a heat creep into your cheeks. _Yeah, just pure curiosity and need for rest that wants me to stay longer,_ you tell yourself sternly. Still, you don’t dare to look at the Asgardian.

“There’s nothing to forgive, [Y/N].” _Damn, that voice!_ Like the softest wool, tugged around you to make you feel safe and warm. “I promise you, you will have time yet to see more of this realm, but only if you take care of and listen to the healers. Lady Idun has trained them all well and they only wish what’s best for you.”

A tender palm cups you jaw, and you let Heimdal turn your head to face him without any objection, ready to get lost in his infinite gaze. _Oh man, this is SO not good!_ It’s only in those hopeless paper-back novels that people “gaze into the depths” of someone’s eyes, or in silly B-movies (if rating generously) that pining wannabe lovers cup each others’ faces! Not real life. _Real life also shouldn’t include travelling to other planets by means of magic,_ a dry voice points out somewhere in your mind. Blinking you realize that not only your logical self has spoken, but Heimdal has said something too.

“Sor-sorry, what?” You manage to stammer, kicking yourself silently.

Thankfully, the man doesn’t laugh at your ridiculous behaviour. “Tell me what you see, and I will explain what I can.” He smiles fondly before gesturing towards the window.

“Oh…right…”

Happy for the distraction, you start to describe the landmarks which he patiently names and more often than not have small stories or anecdotes related to. Some are personal, others are wives’ tales and old legends akin to those from the mythology books or local folk stories. More than once, the god makes you laugh, leaving you breathless and clutching your side while he fuzzes about your pain.

“– he stayed there for two days,” Heimdal chuckles, “before Frigga finally could coax him down from the tree!”

Squinting your eyes, you look to the far shore of a lake where a cluster of birch-like trees grow. “But they look so thin!” Your voice vibrating with disbelief. “Even as a child it would’ve been hard to stay up there!”

“Are you saying my words cannot be trusted?” The deep honeyed chuckle sweeten his accusation, but the Bridge-Keeper continues before you can defend yourself. “No, the tree he climbed into doesn’t stand anymore.”

Looking out again, you begin to make out the darker unevenness of the terrain at the roots of the trees. _A fallen trunk._ “Oh, if it’s the one still lying there, then it makes more sense.”

For a moment the silence fills the room. Not an uncomfortable sort of silence, but the kind between people who are equally relaxed and have a mutual respect for each other, bolstering the feeling of safety that you cherish, and you start to drift off as the sun sets and the stars begin to dot the increasingly dark sky. At some point, you’re not sure when, have your hands found each other again but this time you don’t feel like letting go.

…

[Y/N]’s breathing has slowed, and eyelashes fluttered to a gentle rest nigh an hour ago. It’s with a sweet sting of remorse that the Keeper of the Bifrost slips his fingers from between the woman’s, eliciting a soft sigh without truly waking her. After pulling the fur further up, he slips out of the room quietly to head to his own chambers.

Not even a third of the way there, the queen appears from behind a tapestry, the relative silence broken by the heavy woven fabric of the decoration and the lighter rustle of the silk she wears. Valhalla, the castle, has many hidden passages and though Heimdal sees and hears much, there are still some of the paths that are as yet undiscovered by him, although only two people know of more of these secrets. Frigga and Loki, who used to be her keenest student, have had more opportunities to study the nooks and crannies that Heimdal has had with the gaze fixed on far-away realms. Noting the position of the exit, behind a depiction of the Light Elves’ magic towers, the Watcher has to accept that this is one of the “old” servants corridors.

“My queen.” He bows as etiquette prescribes although they’ve been friends since childhood.

She shakes her head but can’t hide a smile. “Heimdal. How are you this evening?”

Knowing that the small-talk is merely a ruse, he still plays the part until the trivial matters have been expended and the mischievous glimmer in the queen’s eyes has been rekindled. Despite having been preoccupied himself by the Midgardian woman, he hasn’t been blind to the sadness that still dwells behind all of Frigga’s carefully trained roles and proverbial masks. As such, it’s a delight to see some happiness.

“Let’s forgo the pretence, lady Frigga,” he sputters in pretend despair, “what do you _really_ wish to know?”

The laughter is genuine and has been sorely missed. _Yet…it’s not as sweet as –_ he sighs, stopping himself from finishing the thought. There’s no point in humouring what will never be.

“I hear from lady Idun that the Midgardian heals rapidly?” The man simply nods at her words. “Perhaps, when she’s able once more to walk a bit, you can show her some of the realm? I can only imagine how curious she must be.”

For once, it seems to Heimdal that someone other than him has the power to hear things not meant for them. But on the other hand, both a healer and some servants had passed in an out of the patient’s room while he told [Y/N] about the world she could see through the window. The Watcher had hardly seen any of the landscape, as he’d been too busy memorizing the curve of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the plush colour of her lips.

Realizing he still has to answer, he rushes the words. “Yes, the Midgardian does appear fascinated by Asgard.”

“And you by her.” Frigga smiles knowingly. It has always been impossible to keep anything secret from her. “Have you told her yet? _Why_ you saved her? Why you watched her?”

“The selflessness of…of her act,” Heimdal fumbles, “while faced uhm with danger the likes of which her kind has never kno–“

“Oh, you’re impossible, old friend!” Perhaps his dejected look amuses her, either way she giggles the way she did as a child. “You have to tell her how you feel, or you will forever regret it. Think about it.”

Frigga’s already turning down the long hallway when she wishes him goodnight. Returning the kindness, the Bridge-Keeper then proceeds to his chambers in a stupor as thought mill through his head. Most are the likes of how [Y/N] will have to return to her home on Midgard.

…

You wake from the, by now, familiar actions of a healer who’s making sure everything is ready for the night. Even with the presence of the Asgardian caretaker, a sting of loneliness digs into your heart as you realize that Heimdal has left while you were sleeping. _Noooononono,_ telling yourself off with a warm rush to your cheeks, _I’m not going there. That’s NOT what this is! He’s just a friend._ But as the painkillers for the night start to take affect and you fall asleep again, it’s with a little smile on your lips that has very little to do with friendship and a lot to do with the memory of strong arms lifting you and the thought of warm hands on your skin.


	9. Secret smile

Frigga’s standing at the other end of the room, holding out her hands and smiling from ear to ear. You need that. Without the motherly encouragement you’d have given up already, laid back down, and asked for something to numb the pain from what feels like a million daggers working their way up from your feet to your head. At either side of you are two strong Asgardian healers. One is a woman you’ve met several times already, called Hulda, the other is none other than Idun. Both have a strong hold on you to help keep the balance, but the weight itself is entirely on you and your wobbly legs.

“Don’t worry, [Y/N],” Idun soothes with her chirpy voice, “this was the hardest part. Now you’re back on your feet, we’ll be able to use the…regenerator, I think your people would call it.”

“Mh-uh.” Too focused on staying upright to listen and already sweating from the sudden change in your activity level, it’s beyond you to formulate a proper sentence.

Carefully, while biting down hard on your lip to keep from groaning, you shift the weight to the left foot. Muscles tense and tremble at the load, and it feels foreign as the joints attempt previously well-known positions. _There._ Satisfied with the current state, the shuffling movement of the right foot is simple. _Down…and shift over…bit more…bit more…there._ One step at a time, you make it to the half-way point.

“I think that’s enough for now…we want you to make it back too.” Hulda smiles. She’s seen how the glow has drained from your face and the tiny drop of red where a tooth is starting to sink into your lip.

Following their advice, you manage to turn around and (although the two helpers start to take more of the load) walk back to the bed. For days, you’ve only thought of getting out of it, but now it looks like the most exquisite place to rest in the entire world. Scratch that – in any world.

Once tugged nicely in between the soft pillows and furs, you manage to regain your composure a bit and a smile tugs at your cheeks. For someone who had nearly every bone in the body crushed and several organs squished or ruptured, it sure feels like you’ve done pretty good just then. Some might even claim it to be exemplary.

“Twice a day, we’ll help you out of bed to make sure you walk,” the Royal Healer Supreme explains (not that it’s the official title, but it’s one you’ve chosen, and you’ve sees how she smiles at it), “after the midday’s meal you’ll be transported to the healing cradles.”

 _Cradle?_ “Wait…I though you said something about a generator?”

“It’s a function available in the cradles,” Hulda offers with the usual smile, “that allows any tissue to be rebuild or strengthened. It’s taken some time to adjust it to a Midgardian physiology, but for the best results you need to actively use your body anyways.”

The explanation doesn’t seem that far fetched compared to what the veterinarian in your home town used to say. When ever a farmer or pet owner had had an animal fixed, he told them to let the poor beast run around like it used to. _They know to stop when it hurts too much, and until then it gets the blood rolling,_ his words echoes in your head.   
There’s just one problem with whatever treatment the Asgardians want to put you through: it’ll accelerate your healing. And the sooner you get well, the sooner you’ll be going back to earth and somehow, well, you don’t want that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a tiny voice tells you, that you shouldn’t feel that way, that you instead are supposed to hurry home to your family because you love them and they’re worrying about you, and of course you know that’s true. It just doesn’t compare to being here in Asgard, free of any negative memories and ties. Not to mention that a part of you will be left behind in this faraway world once you do go back.

Shaking the head, you force your attention back to the women in the room. “How long until I have to leave?”

The glances passing between the queen and the healers is brief but evident. “It’s hard to say exactly, my dear,” the queen begins, stepping closer as the others leave the room, “Midgardian physiology is different from ours, so do not trouble yourself.” She adjusts a pillow slightly before meeting you eyes. “A lot can happen in the meantime. Now rest.”

…

The first half of the day, Heimdal had had see to the training of the guard as Tyr’s otherwise occupied. Afterwards, the Keeper of Bifrost had been summoned by the All-Father. It had been a very strange and one-sided meeting at which he had been tasked to learn of the patient’s intentions and skills. Furthermore, the king had indicated a worry of the outworlder divulging too much information once she returned to her realm. _The Midgardians,_ Odin had said _, are a young and power-hungry people who storm-forge ahead with little regard to the consequences and seemingly without learning from their mistakes, they have to be governed carefully now they’ve become aware of the opportunities and dangers in the universe._ Learning about powers and technologies without possessing the ethics needed for it could lead to disaster.

Looking at the king, Heimdal considers the options carefully, weighing the chances of a decision that he might find favourable.

“Perhaps it’s best if the mortal stays here until we know that she will not betray our ways to her own people.” Odin isn’t talking to anyone specifically and the Bridge-Keeper knows better than to talk out of turn these days. “Are her injuries still too severe for travel?”

This question isn’t of the rhetorical kind and Heimdal nods. “Yes, my lord, she’s still bedridden.”

“Use the time to learn of her plans. Win her friendship on behalf of Asgard.” Seemingly done with the audience, the king turns to confer with a councillor about other matters of state, and so Heimdal dismisses himself with a bow.

There’s a deep frown on his face as he mindlessly wonders the halls and corridors until he finds himself at [Y/N]‘s room only to find the door open and bed empty with no one in sight to explain where she is. Scanning the halls of Valhalla, there’s no trace of the woman for his imbued vision, forcing him to hope for the best as he hurries down different passages, spurred on by a seething worry he cannot explain, and which makes him oblivious to the startled exclamations as he rushes past servants or guards in his hurry to get to the infirmary. The door he reaches this time is closed and a stern, but not unkind, healer is standing before it, blocking his path.

“My lord, I cannot let you enter at this moment.”

Glaring at the man, Heimdal straightens up in an unspoken challenge. “Has the Midgardian been brought here?”

“Yes.” The challenge hasn’t gone unnoticed, but it doesn’t appear to affect the healer. “She’s undergoing treatment at this moment. As such I cannot let you enter as she’s indecently dressed.”

Whether because of the Bridge-Keepers notorious ability or out of pure principle, Lady Idun has long ago placed a spell upon the rooms that shields them from prying eyes. Of course, he would never abuse such powers to – _Well…not in such manner._ Ignoring the healer who’s still watching quietly, Heimdal begins to pace back and forth while recalling the days where he constantly would grant himself glances at a woman in a realm far away. He had no right to watch her, and although he never took advantage by observing her unrobed, he must admit that given consent by [Y/N] he would grab the opportunity. Even recovering, lying bedridden and broken, this Midgardian’s a rare beauty capable of enthralling him with a charming smile and a wiggle of the smallest finger. _By the norns, Frigga’s right._ With a sigh, the usually stoic Watcher slumps onto a granite bench (softened for the sake of the patients’ companions with furs and pillows), stumped by the revelation of the extend of his feelings for the brave woman he so irrationally had saved in spite of orders. _Yes,_ he admits, _I was smitten already then._


	10. Ain't no Mountain High Enough

You can feel the difference the regenerator makes in the healing process. Three days with treatment, but today is going to be without it.

When you’d woken up the first time in Asgard, you’d been wrapped in stiff bandages to support the many broken ribs, and your arm and both legs had been broken in several places (technically one of those places what the hip and not the leg itself, but it hadn’t mattered much then).

Now however, the extra layers that have supported and protected the healing bones were gone. Breathing deeply, you’re finally standing on your own in a proper bathroom without the fear that you’ll collapse all of a sudden.

Three treatments in the cradle. Each one had left you exhausted, your body burning with the heat of electricity, and it had lingered long into the night, making you cranky and draining every bit of energy that wasn’t used for walking back and forth in the room with two healers ready to catch you.   
When you didn’t do any of that, you slept, only waking up a few times to see that Heimdal was dozing in the chair next to the bed, or that he’d been around, leaving some token behind instead of waking you. First it had simply been a note, saying that her sister was doing well and that he would come by later to entertain her. Another time it’d been a book with old stories and myth of the Asgardian people. Then flowers, strangely familiar and yet alien at the same time.

 _Today,_ you say to yourself, _today I’ll stay awake._ Wriggling out of the light hospital-like gown, you look over at the stack of clean clothes that Frigga has provided you with. There’s no doubt, they’ll be nothing like you owned at home, but you can’t wait to wear them. Anything to be less like a patient and more like a person.

The shower is true to the grandiose style of the city beyond your window. Like a waterfall, it springs from the stone wall, cascading onto you and the marble floor in a soft, warm stream that washes away the last bits of mustiness that had build up under the bandages although they’d been changed frequently. _Oh, gods, it’s good._ Rubbing your scalp and hair with plenty of shampoo, you realize that a haircut is long overdue. Maybe you will leave it long this time? Change it up, just like your life has been? The possibilities seem endless and the freedom to choose anything makes you smile. All in all, life has taken a turn for the better since you left your hometown. Sure, getting squished by a giant, alien “leviathan” hadn’t been ideal, but you’re alive, recovering well…and you’ve gotten to see more than you could ever have imagined.

Once clean and dry, you dress in what you assume must be Asgardian fashion, to you it could’ve been taken straight from a renaissance fair or a fairy tale. At least the queen has provided you with pants. Tight and made of leather, which seems a bit daring. But it’s much better than having to move around in one of those long dresses the women seem to favour around here. A soft tunic goes over that, and once you’ve wrapped a leather belt around your waist, it’s hard not to nod approvingly at your reflection in the mirror. _Lookin’ good._

…

Rechecking that everything is prepared, Heimdal can’t help but feel a bit nervous. The queen had been kind enough to divulge the plan for [Y/N]’s treatment, granting him an opportunity to plan ahead. _Ready._ With a satisfied smile, he strides off to handle the next phase of the plan.

By the time he reaches the door to the Midgardian’s chamber, an apprehension unlike anything he has felt since he was a young man is hammering inside his chest. He knocks for once, and the answer comes promptly, urging him to enter.

Not sure what to expect, it’s a pleasant surprise to see the woman sitting on the edge of the bed, dressed in leather and delicately embroidered linen. The cool purple of the tunic is broken by thin lines of gold and yet…it cannot distract from the glory of [Y/N]’s smiling face and sparkling eyes that greet him unwavering. _She’s…exquisite._ Sure, the clothes are simple, nothing worth bragging about, so rather it’s the concept of this woman, radiant with life and curiosity, finally not being reduced to simply a patient. Even without having exchanged greetings with her, Heimdal’s sure his plan will be accepted happily.

“Morning, Heimdal.” The woman drops the gaze, picking instead at some invisible speck of dust on the tunic.

She doesn’t see as the Bridge-Keeper smiles at her self-consciousness. “Good morning. It’s a joy to see you free of the infirmary’s dreary gown.”

“It feels good to wear sorta normal stuff.” [Y/N]’s eyes go wide as she realizes what she just said. “I mean…It’s not that it’s not normal! I just…on earth we, y’know…it’s uhm…different and…ehm…and –“

It’s impossible not to let loose a guffaw at the woman’s attempt at recovering from what she thinks it’s a blunder. “Don’t worry, my friend,” Heimdal calms, “I’m well aware of the garments used in Midgard.” Observing as a shy smile erupts, the Bridge-Keeper decides it’s now or never. “Perhaps, if you feel up for it, I could tempt you with an excursion? A skiff has been prepared to take you across the realm of Asgard rather than only watching the world from behind a window…?”

A variety of emotions flutter across the features of [Y/N]: astonishment and delight are pushed aside by something akin to worry, perhaps. The bright smile turns into a frown as she bites softly into the lower lip and the fingers wind themselves in the embroidered border of the linen.

“What is it, my lady?” Heimdal allows himself to take a seat next to her on the edge of the bed, carefully reaching for her hand.

Taking it, delicate fingers trace invisible patterns around his knuckles. “I would seriously, like _really_ , abso-freaking-lutely _love_ to go. There’s so much to discover here and it’s like…like being in a fairy tale. Only it’s real.”

“But…?” Holding his breath, the Guardian of the Bifrost attempts to steal his heart for the worst. After all, why would she care to spend time with him?

“How…how do I get to the skiff? I still can’t walk very far yet.” Again, the lower lip falls victim to a soft bite, and Heimdal finds himself wishing it was his lip. “The length of the hallway,” she indicates with a nod towards the corridor beyond the chamber-door, “but then I’m done for.”

 _Is that it?_ Expecting her to go on, the Asgardian hesitates, but nothing more comes. “If I’ll have to carry you, to grant you a taste of the world you so keenly have observed, then I will!”

“Oh, no! I can’t let you do tha–“

“[Y/N], there’s no need to fret. Just like on your earth, we have means of transporting people too ill or injured to walk.”

Meeting the [Y/E/C] eyes, he witnesses the decision being made, and his own heart could burst from his chest.

…

 _Of course!_ You’re absolutely certain that you’re the biggest idiot to walk the planet. _A people as advanced as the Asgardians are bound to have wheelchairs and what-not._ Oddly enough, Idun has so far insisted on ferrying you to and from the cradles in a lying position, so you simply haven’t seen any other means of aid. And lying on the way to an exploration-trip hadn’t seemed like a good idea.

Naturally, it doesn’t take Heimdal long before he’s arranged a surprisingly stylish set of wheels for you and brings you through the labyrinth of halls and passages until you finally are outside in the sun. Breathing deeply, it strikes you again how clean the air is contrary to that back home…even out in the middle of nowhere, where you used to live. The sound of the city was distant and soothing, unable to overpower the songbirds and myriad of busy insects dancing on the breeze from flower to flower. _This is heaven._ It really did make sense why the Vikings of old had lived in glorifying hope of going to Valhalla. A morbid thought with a sense of humour as black as the deepest cave makes you quirk a smile, because in a way you (almost) _did_ die in battle like the warriors thought was needed to be taken by the Valkyries to Asgard…and here you are. Difference is that you’re very much alive. The sun warming your skin and the gently win playing with your hair is proof of that. So is the fuzzy jolt that travels through your body as a strong hand rests against your back, urging you to step into the longboat that’s hovering in a waterless channel.

Once settled neatly on board, resting against furs and pillows, Heimdal maneuvers the vessel expertly out of the alien dock and along an invisible path.

“Anywhere particular in mind?”

 _That voice can also only be from heaven._ “All of it?” You answer makes him laugh, honey eyes nearly disappearing in the smile. “I’d like to see what you see when you’re guarding Bifrost. And the mountain inland! And the lake I can see from my room.”

He get’s what you are trying to put into words, and as he navigates through the air, the many stories of the nation and his own youth surface. The intricate pattern in this Asgardian’s life has you criss-crossing fields and rivers, skimming over the treetops of the vast forests, and cruising along herds of deer leaping over the plains that fall and rise like ocean swells. And although each detour has the skiff aimed in a new direction, Heimdal consistently draws nearer to the mountains, the heart of the world. The snow-capped peaks loom tall ahead of you as the upland grows steadily steeper.

“These summits,” with a flourish he indicates the two tallest, “are Kóngurinn and Drottningin.”

Apparently, it means king and queen and are referring to the very first king and his wife. Buri, as the king was called, established Asgard’s dominance and role as a protector or the “Nine Realms”. This is not completely new to you as some of the books you’ve been reading while stuck in bed also covers subjects such as Asgardian history. Still…hearing it from Heimdal is much better and you feel your gaze drawn to him rather than the view. He has a way of oozing contagious interest, each word dripping with a calm confidence. _Enchanting._ There’s no other term to describe how the mesmerizing voice conjures images from the past.


	11. Time in a Bottle

Heimdal navigates the vessel effortlessly between rocky outcrops and the uppermost trees on the slopes of Kóngurinn, the lower of the two peaks, until it comes to a rest on the lush grass strewn with wildflowers. At the visitors backs, the mountain shield from the wind, granting the sun full power to warm the natural pasture of a herd of bilbery blacknecks who have congregated near the glacier stream.

Disembarking the skiff, the Guardian of Bifrost feels is heart take flight as [Y/N] allows him to lift her over the edge, and it’s hard not to linger before setting her carefully on the firm ground because she’s enticingly close to him. Slender arms wrapped around his neck and shoulder, pressing her firmly against a chest that swells with the nearness they share and the sweet scent of her breath that tickles softly against his suddenly dry throat. With a quick glance, Heimdal confirms that the woman’s soft lips are a mere dip of his head away. _No…it would be…I cannot take such a liberty._ Instead, he relishes the sensation as she holds on to him while finding her footing. When the Midgardian finally does turn to look across the world below, Heimdal cannot tear his eyes away from [Y/N].

…

What a view. Before you, the landscape falls away to reveal what appears to be the disc-shape of this world. Asgard is truly magical, because in your mind a “normal” alien world would still follow the rules of science as you know it from earth, but this place is…well, it’s impossible. At first glance nothing seems amiss with the way the blue dome of the sky hangs above you. However, as your eyes trails to the horizon, the light blue is darkened, adopting the features of the clearest of nights. The dark, velvety band beyond the world is embellished with glittering diamonds and here and there are colourful swirls that must be galaxies rather than single stars. Nearer to you is the edge of the ocean. A clearly defined line where the torrents must fall beyond the border, not unlike the Vikings thought of their own world. And right on that line is a golden globe perched, attached to the mainland by an umbilical cord made of kaleidoscopic and golden materials and leading in a straight line to the grand city surrounding the palace. Valhalla.

“This is…it’s…” you grapple with the words, but they keep evading you and the sentence is never finished.

The colours of the landscape are vibrant and clean, the air infused with health that seeps into your body with each breath. Moving carefully to avoid the worst of the pain, you sit down. That way you don’t have to concentrate on standing, using your energy on taking in your surroundings rather than avoid falling over.

As you sink onto the lush grass, you notice the abundance of wild flowers. Some are familiar (corn flowers, gold yarrows, foxgloves, poppies and primroses), but there are many others in clusters or isolated that you don’t know what to call. One of them, you’re willing to swear, is even making a melody. Looking further, you notice the goats (at least you assume that’s what they are) by a stream flowing from its spring somewhere above the pasture. The shaggy animals don’t bother with the intruders and a few little kids are bouncing happily around, mock headbutting each other and whichever plants they deem to be worthy opponents.

“What do you think?” Heimdal calls your attention back gently. “Does it seem too alien for your liking?”

“It’s different, yeah, but in the best of ways!” You turn to face him fully with a smile. “Asgard’s…breathtakingly beautiful. Perhaps there’s some place on ear–Midgard like this, but I’ve never seen it. If there was, then I’d move there.” Gazing across the wondrous planet, you add more to yourself than to him: “I’d stay here if I could.”

Warm fingers wrap around your hand, squeezing gently in an unspoken reassurance that somehow everything will be alright. For now, it truly feels as though it will.

…

Heimdal had thought of everything, you admit to yourself as you watch him collect the blankets and lunch basket. Watching him move as he works is a delight, and a wilder side of you attempts to scold you for not having taking more advantage of the situation than simply holding hands. _One day it’ll be too late to make a move._ A cold and heavy knot forms somewhere in your guts at the thought, making your smile falter momentarily. _Damnit!_ Fighting the beckoning sadness, you push away the looming mystery that’s your future. This day has been amazing, and the man has done his best to provide entertainment and excellent company. He deserves the brightest smile. When he turns and walks back towards you, his golden eyes gleaming, the smile returns to your lips effortlessly.

It’s hard to get back onto your feet from the ground off, and you accept a helping hand which turns into to strong arms lifting you and carrying you to the skiff.

“Thank you.” Try as you might, something’s preventing you from speaking louder than a whisper.

For a second, as he lowers you onto the furs and cushions, it feels like his lips ghost along your cheek bone, sending a hot wave through you. “It’s my pleasure.” Then he’s moving away, swinging elegantly over the railing to take his place by the steering mechanism.

Comfortable in the nest Heimdal has made for you, it’s hard to keep up the pessimism as the landscape passes beneath the flying boat. Despite the old civilisation, the damage to the world is minimal as opposed to what you’ve seen at home and taken for granted as “not too bad”. Everything in Asgard is pristine and clean, making you dread having to return to New York and the concrete-hell. _Or what’s left of it._ The images of a city turned warzone visits your randomly, especially at night if you wake up in spite of the medicine the healers still want you to take. Generally, you can keep the memories at bay, but as the skiff brings you and Heimdal closer to Valhalla the harder it becomes to ignore the dread of what awaits you at home. Why had it even happened? No one on earth had even known about intelligent life outside of the solar system let alone the planet! _Right?_

“Why…why was earth attacked by aliens? Why’d anyone do that?” Peeling your eyes from the golden castle in the distance, you twist carefully to look at Heimdal.

A shadow settles over him, engulfing the little vessel and its occupants in an uncomfortable tension. There’s no smile playing in the amber of the Asgardian’s eyes, and now your throat’s dry and your palms are sweating lightly with the certainty that the answer won’t be the reassuring kind.

“The people of Midgard have done no wrong, save for being treasured by Thor.” A deep sigh punctuates the somewhat lacking explanation and his gaze grows distant before he continues. “Loki, his brother for all intense and purposes, sought revenge on an imagined slight by conquering your realm with the intent to destroy or rule.”

You understand the words individually. The meaning of the sentence isn’t far fetched either, still it doesn’t quite compute as quickly as it should.

“Loki?” Your Asgardian friend nods. “The…Trickster…Loki?” Again, a soft dip of the head is the answer. “What happened to him?”

…

Never again would Heimdal underestimate the cold ferocity of a woman. Working in tandem with stubbornness only rivaled by that of a bilgesnipe in heat, the fury of [Y/N] was now the direct cause of her slow but steady progress down the hall leading to the dungeons. Nothing the Guardian of Bifrost and Asgard has said is enough to stop her, and so he has resorted to keep her upright as they make their way down the steps after the Einherjar on duty allows them through (although with a confused look beneath the furrowed brows).

The woman’s body tenses against the bracing hold Heimdal has on her, causing the Asgardian to look up and, for the first time since Thor’s return with the prisoner of war, lay eyes on Loki. The lanky figure is sprawled lazily on a settee with a book in his hands. _He looks healthier._ In fact, this could almost have been the young prince that grew up at the court. The child that pulled pranks. The youth that charmed all those in his vicinity. It could have been…but it’s not. A callousness has taken hold in a heart, cold and resentful. Even now, as Loki steals a covert glance their way, a contemptuous sneer is fleetingly visible to the diligent watcher.

Keeping her silence, [Y/N] covers the remaining distance to the one step leading up to the golden, mesh-like barrier. There she plants herself firmly, piercing the former prince with hard eyes. Not a word is said as minutes tick by where Heimdal can feel the load he has to carry for the woman increase. It’s a battle of wills. A duel which Loki loses the moment he tosses the book aside and stands to face her.


	12. These Days

Glaring into the pale face framed in stark contrast by ink-black hair, all the words you had prepared on the way to the prison fall short of what you want to express. White-hot anger freezes your veins, urging you to act physically. _If only I could._ Balling your fists at your side, the sting of the nails digging into your palms is your only release, though what you want is to kick and punch and scream…anything to wipe that oddly curious ghost of a smirk off the thin lips.

“My my,” the words slither through the thin golden barrier, “a Midgardian? What a _lovely_ surprise.”

Every alarm bell in your head starts to ring because this is how your ex was in the beginning. The difference is that you’ve learned to recognize the warning signs by now, granting you both the horrible clear hindsight in terms of discovering the warnings of the no-goo-loser you left back in the middle of nowhere…and now the cracks in the veneer covering Loki’s true character. _Yelling won’t help._ Instead he’ll get off of it, unless it makes him downright vicious. Unfortunately, insulting or mocking him openly won’t do any good either.

“Lucky guess or simple recognition?” You hope the prisoner can’t hear how your voice quakes.

The way the man tilts his head reminds you of a predator zeroing in on the target. “I visited your pathetic realm recently,” the Trickster hisses, “your kind is _weak_ …unmistakable and meant to cower before a god like me!”

 _What a first-class fuck-head!_ “You’re no god.” The scoff escapes your lips before you can bite it back, but you’ll be damned if you don’t follow it up. “You’re not a king either…in fact…you rule no one and nothing and neither I or _anyone_ else will knowingly bow to you. Ever!” The outburst leaves you winded, each expansion of your ribcage painful like piercing ice.

“You’re _meant_ to be ruled! And if you _won’t_ do it of your _own_ volition, then you can be _broken_!” The sharp features contort into a sneer as he speaks, his fist impacts hard with the seemingly magical barrier between you and comes to a rest by his forehead as he leans in. “Your world has merely had a _taste_ of what’s to come.”

It’s meant to be every bit as threatening as it sounds, and with the ruthless stare and manic grin, it’d make sense to run away screaming. Even so, you refuse to back down.

“What’s broken can heal,” you reply quietly, referring less to Earth and more to your own condition.

Freeing yourself from Heimdal’s supporting embrace, you make it the rest of the way until your nose could touch the barrier where you straighten up and stare right back into the emerald eyes. Unflinchingly, ignoring the desperate complaints of your body, you study the would-have-been invaders mimic: the dilation of his pupils, how he sometimes licks his lips with a quick dart of the tongue, the twitch at the corner of his mouth, even the thin crow’s feet by the eyes. And then you see it. Hidden deep within, pushed away from his consciousness by sheer will power is the little kid that wants to prove himself and needs to belong. The child that’s well aware of having done the wrong thing but won’t admit to it for the sake of self-preservation.

“Interesting…” His eyes narrow with suspicion at your sudden calm. “Forgiving you’s out of the question…maybe, though, you’ll find your peace one day.”

The tension in the room increases to the point of being palpable as malice emanates from the man in the cell who’s sputtering, searching for an answer when you let Heimdal help you back the way you’d come.

“Come _back_ here!” Loki yells at your retreating back to no avail. “Come _back_ and _face me,_ _HARLOT!_ ”

The heavy, metal doors slide shut with a clang, sealing the echoes of the furious screams within the dungeon. Looking around desperately for somewhere to sit, you find nothing within reach before your legs will give out from right under you, and the only reason you don’t collapse is because Heimdal slips his strong arms behind your knees and back, lifting you effortlessly. As you wrap your arms around his neck, he tugs you closer, enabling you to rest your head against his shoulder. Your eyes close as the Keeper of Bifrost lulls you with each long step he takes. Warm sand and cinnamon soothe your senses, washing the anger and hatred towards the pale maniac away. The pain in your chest subsides as the furious breaths calm and the tensions in your muscles unclench. _At least the shithead known as Loki is locked away._ People on earth are safe from him. Your safe. Especially here in these strong arms.

But the closeness must come to an end eventually.

As Heimdal enters the room you stay in, carefully closing the door behind him, you know that he’ll be tugging you in and then call a healer to take care of you. Soft furs and pillows form around you, allowing the burned to be lifted from his embrace.

“Wait.” Clinging on to his shoulders for a moment, it’s hard to chose a feature to lock your gaze onto. _What if…no._

Throwing caution to the wind, you pull yourself up a bit. Just enough to plant a featherlight kiss on his lips. The sharp intake of breath through his nostrils is audible to you and the fear that you’ve gone too far crashes down on you. But as you begin to pull away, he swoops down, chasing your mouth to deepen the kiss. Gentleness becomes hunger. Softness turns into need. _He even tastes of warm, sweet spices,_ you think as the tip of your tongue traces the seam of his mouth. A large hand slides from your knee, coming to rest on the thigh instead and eliciting a tiny sound of approval. However, as Heimdal wraps the other arm around your waist and pulls you closer, the pain flares up and twists the sound into an anguished whimper, prompting him to pull back.

“Forgive me, [Y/N].” His pupils are still blown, nearly swallowing all of the amber irises although the concern’s evident. “I shou–“ Interrupting himself, he breathes in deeply. “I didn’t intend to cause you any pain…I’ll get the healer right away.”

He’s already at the door before you’ve managed to open your mouth. “Heimdal.” The door handle has disappeared in the same hand that had stroked your thigh. “Don’t feel bad, please.”

“I hurt you.” His back is still towards you, making it impossible to even guess at his facial expressions and in turn emotions.

“You didn’t mean to…and…it was, you know…you also made me feel…” _I sound like a dumb teenager,_ yet you press on, “feel good.”


	13. You're not there

A light rain is tapping on the windows, far too gentle to fit your mood and with the setting sun’s rays fragmenting into mini-Bifrosts in each drop. Not even the magnificence of Asgard can distract you from the storm raging within you, a storm that has gained strength as one day has taken the other while you wait for Heimdal to visit again. It’s been a week. A week since the excursion to the mountain followed by facing the one responsible for the attack on your home world. A week since the kiss. _Did I misinterpret?_ Not for the first time, your thoughts spiral into a theme of apprehension and doubt. _Perhaps the connection I thought was there hadn’t been more than simple friendliness…maybe not even that._

Pacing the room, there’s no way you can outrun the negativity. Both because you’re well aware it’s all in your head, a result of years spent with a guy who’d put you down at any given chance, and also because the regenerative treatment you’ve received that very same day has left you sore and tired. It adds to the dreadful feeling of inadequacy. In fact, why should you even bother worrying about Heimdal or anything? In the end, an end that draws nearer each day your health improves, you’ll have to go back to earth and your old life. _I’ll need a new job._ Even if the publicist you’d worked at still existed, there’s no way you’d still be employed there after such a long time away. Most likely it’s been destroyed during the fighting like so many other companies in that area of Manhattan. _And then what?_ Without a work lined up, you’d lose your place to live in the city (which had been hell to find). Your rent was automated, sure, but money doesn’t last forever, and your bank account must be getting close to the red digits.

Sighing, you pour a glass of water from the carafe. There’s nothing you can do about anything. You’re perfectly safe where you are…still the world is crumbling around you.

…

Staring into the endlessness beyond the golden, globular observatory, Heimdal stands immobile, his thoughts much closer than the many worlds he’s watching. A week has passed, yet for someone who has lived more than a millennium, this week has been an eternity.

On the way from [Y/N]’s chambers, the Watcher had been approached by a servant of the king and told to follow to the throne room. The conversation with Odin had been brief and rather one-sided. No one refuses the All-Father lightly, and so Heimdal had been reinstated as the Keeper of Bifrost and Guardian of Asgard effective immediately. Furthermore, he’s tasked with supervising the training of an elite squad of Einherjar. Their responsibility will be to scout for very specific types of threats in the chaotic aftermath of Loki’s betrayal and they will in time be imbued with seiðr, granting them abilities similar (although not as potent) as his.

By the time Heimdal’s daily tasks end and he’d make it to the [Y/N]’s quarters…he’d find her fast a sleep. A few times, he’d lingered in the doorway, a smile finding its way to his lips as the moonlight illuminated graceful features, her chest rose and fell steadily, and the eyelids would tremble lightly at whichever dream-visions she saw. Each time, he’d leave quietly.

Momentarily, his gaze slips and amber eyes glow with a golden light.

…

The walls of the room fall away, revealing the splendor of stars and galaxies, you only have seen during the night where the pain medication hasn’t been enough to grant you rest. Iridescent clouds of space dust shimmer in the light reflected off a comet as it sweeps through, creating purple and peach ripples against the never-ending darkness of the backdrop. With a fluid motion, the scene changes and comes to rest with a planet in focus, its red and green surface riddled with mountains and valleys, although there’s nothing to compare it to you have a distinct feeling that this is a small globe, and only one city (because it _must_ be just that) is visible on the horizon. But before you know for sure, your view is shifted again. This time you see through a haze of clouds and smoke erupting from tall chimney belonging to a city that cover every inch of the surface, blanketing the alien planet in gold, black and grimy white. It could have been impressive, the individual buildings maybe even beautiful, if it wasn’t because industrialism and pollution was smothering every sign of life.

“How can they –?” You stop yourself, knowing that no one’s there to answer your question.

“Lady [Y/N]?” A warm voice emanates from all around you. _Or within me?_ “Don’t be alarmed, you’re safe.”

The sight fades, leaving you blinking against the fading sunlight. The half-full glass is still in your hand. In fact, nothing has changed…except everything is different.

You know which voice you just heard. “Heim-Heimdal?” Carefully replacing the glass onto the table, you sit down not knowing what to expect.

“It is I, Heimdal.” This time the voice’s in your mind. “My apologies, I didn’t intent to show you what I see…”

“Wait, you _see_ that?” Maybe he can read your mind (the thought immediately makes you blush), but oddly enough you still speak out loud.

“I am blessed with sight and hearing beyond that of any mortal.” There’s an edge to his words that makes you think he’s trying to be modest. “In a simple vernacular, it would not be amiss to say that…I can see across time and space. This is not to mean that I see the future, though.”

Science in high school had been alright, but the teacher had favoured the boys, thinking that girls shouldn’t bother with things like that, and so it’s hard to remember the details about space and light. “What you see is actually happening the moment you see it instead? No delays like the rest of us would have when observing something lightyears away…”

“Well said.”

An awkward silence descend. _Is he still there?_ There’s no way of knowing for you and after a week without his visits… _Oh, just try!_

“Heimdal…” A hum of approval reverberates in your skull, like a meditative chant that brings peace. “Can you show me Ear-Midgard?”

Blue, green and white on one half at first, the familiar planet rotates into view with its moon in a slow waltz around it. Even sitting down (which is odd when you can’t see yourself or where you’re sitting), you’re breathless at the glorious sight suspended in a universe infinitely more complicated than you once suspected. Continents and coastal countries are discernible between meteorological patterns and you recognize North America easily before the view zooms closer, bringing you to New York where construction sites have spawned since last you were there. Life goes on, of course. And as reassuring as it is, the trepidation infuses your limbs with lead. _How can I?_ The answer will have to wait, and until you find it, you’ll simply take each day at a time. By guiding Heimdal, the offices of the publicist come into view…or what’s left of them. Half the building is gone! And what’s left is being torn down by humongous, canary-coloured machines.

“At least I don’t have to worry about missing out on work, I guess…” The dry laughter you manage to produce doesn’t spook the encroaching dread away.

Buildings sweep past, making it seem like you’re flying (although it’s nothing like the pigeons and seagulls of the metropolis) and bringing you north before crossing Central Park along a familiar route. It calms you to recognize the Japanese Zelkova tree and all the other plants in the rectangular oasis still are intact. Yes, it’s different flowers blooming, and the colours of the park has changed with that…but there’s no damage to be seen here. _There._ You have to remind yourself that you are, in fact, sitting in Asgard far across the universe.

A slim border around the park is intact, but as the flight brings you between buildings you can see the destruction and havoc. It’s more scattered. _Maybe from stray missiles or whatever aliens use?_ Already the crews of labourers with their towering machines have found their way to each site, clearing away rubble and debris and tearing down what’s left of the buildings that had gotten hit. Including your home.

“I’m sorry.”

Heimdal’s words reach you, warm and soothing…except you’re certain the shock isn’t related to the loss of your home and belongings in themselves, as he might think, rather the fact that you’ve got one place to go: your hometown. _Fuck._ It wasn’t for nothing that you’d moved across the country to get away from that hell-hole. Returning would be humiliating. And according to the last messages from your sister before New York was attacked, your ex had been far from over the sudden abandonment.

Breathing in deeply and taming your voice just enough to breathe out: “Thank you. That’s enough.”

Once more, you find yourself in the beautiful room flooded with the warm glow from the setting sun which adds a pink tint to the white walls and light up the wooden details with the radiance of fire and gold. A slim vase sits on the table, housing a single flower that only opens at nightfall to allow the delicate anthers and stigma to shine like tiny stars. It had been there when you woke up the morning after the…picnic. At first, you’d thought it was from Heimdal. Now you weren’t so sure.

Something lands on your hand, startling you from the somber train of thoughts. A wet drop glistens in the light and you realize your cheeks are damp too. Angrily, you wipe them away. _I knew, I had to go back to earth._ Still, it’s not the planet itself that worries you. _I’ve made it out of there once before…I can do it again._ People start over all the time, finding new homes in countries they’ve never been to before and often starting out with nothing but their own will to succeed. Determined, you decide that you’ll do the same.


	14. Rather be

Absentmindedly your fingertips trace the edge of paper-thin, indigo petals, making the tiny lights in the heart of the flower tremble. Next to the vase is the untouched dinner and the medication for the night which you still need (though a smaller dosage) to be guaranteed a proper sleep, both important for anyone recovering from being crushed by an alien monster…and both the last thing on your mind right now as you contemplate your future.

Every situation in life grants you choices. Sometimes the options presenting themselves are all bad, but they’re still there and in the end, they might lead to something better…or so you’re trying to convince the inner voice that’s ranting about how everything can go wrong. The first issue had been choosing where to live, or rather: where _not_ to live, which honestly didn’t really prove that difficult. Also New Zealand, Australia or even Canada were much more sensible option than “home” could ever be if it included your ex.

Being a day labourer at some farm can work especially with your (although limited) knowledge from the job at the veterinarian, because cattle is cattle and you know how to deal with them and spot their health issues, and maybe the owner will let you camp out in the barn at first. Alternatively, a big city will offer support for homeless people and there’ll be a plethora of menial jobs that no one else wants. With enough hard work and smart living, you’ll be able to regain the kind of life you want. A lot of hard work. City-folks are rarely forgiving or kind, as far as you’ve seen, and there’ll be no connections to draw on or friends who can vouch for you when trying to crawl up the proverbial ladder. _I’ll rather live as a bum for years than go back to him._

Still, no amount of imagination or will is going to help you get past the first challenge. You’re going to have to convince the Asgardians to drop you off far from where they found you. _Heimdal knows where I live._ The facial muscles constrict tiredly to create an expression of nervous curiosity, distorted in the reflection on the vase. _How did he know?_ You haven’t told him how to navigate through the streets and the park in New York, but somehow…he’d followed the path you took each day, leading the magic sight of his to the ruins of the apartment building. And, now you were thinking, why the _hell_ had he suddenly showed you what he could see? Just like that, out of the blue! The Asgardian has avoided you for a week, but suddenly sees it fit to drop that bomb on you! _Who does he think he is?!_ Stubbornness turns into roaring flames as you decide that this game he’s playing has to end, because damnit, you deserve better than being left in the dark with no clue as to what’s going on.

“Heimdal.” The words hang sharp in the air, and you hope he can hear it from wherever he’s hiding.

Softly, the answer reaches you. “Lady [Y/N].”

 _That was not in my head._ Whipping your head around, you see him standing in the door. The sparingly lit hallway behind him is not enough to reduce him to a silhouette, but you’d have recognized him anyways even with the heavy golden cuirass covering his chest and the impressive (yet impractical looking) helmet under the arm. Trying to stop yourself from gawking at him, you press your lips together.

“I apologize for not knocking…” A large hand reaches for the back of his neck, rubbing awkwardly before falling back to the side. “May I enter?”

Staying silent, you nod, suddenly the determination and frustration leaking from you like hot air from a balloon. His is not the voice of a man oblivious to the feelings of those around him.

As he closes the door gently, you become aware of the darkness of the room and scramble to find matches to light the candles that are placed on tables, shelves and the dresser. While busy, you’re painfully aware of how the tall man strips himself of every piece of armour, depositing it carefully in a heap on the floor. The tiny flame of the match nearly reaches your fingertips as you linger by the last light, turning your brain over for a different way to go about this. Something less aggressive or demanding.

“Please forgive me, [Y/N], for not visiting you the last many days…” the deep purr begins before you can, “it must have seemed as though I abandoned you.”

A pause stretches, allowing you to breathe deeply and gain control of your own voice. “Where…where were you?” The candle flame flickers on your breath but regains steadiness quickly.

“The All-Father reinstated me and tasked me with an additional duty.” This time Heimdal speaks from somewhere closer to where you’re standing and the butterflies in your stomach begin to stir. “My days have been long, keeping me from you against my will until you already had found rest.” The scents of warm sand and cinnamon surround you now. “Each night I’d come by, wishing you would be awake…” The deep inhalation is shuddering, the exhalation tickles you neck and jaw. “We have so little time together unle–“

You know exactly how he must have nearly bitten his own tongue to stop the rest of the sentence from spilling out, but rather than serving its purpose in keeping the peace, it pisses you off. _Why can’t he just say what he wants? Why all the sneaking and holding back and damnit!_

“Unless?” You groan in exasperation. “Unless what exactly?”

Turning around sharply, you come face to face with him and almost lose the sense of balance thanks to the amber eyes that nearly glow with… _with what?_ To avoid this smoldering unknown you lower your gaze, only for it to land on his mouth, lips parted slightly. _Hot damn._ Your breath hitches ever so discreetly whereas his is heavy.

“[Y/N]…” When you don’t respond or move, Heimdal simply cups your face in his strong hands, tilting it upwards gently but insistently. “Please believe me when I say…there’s no place I rather want to be, than with you.”

Deep shadows created by the candles are dancing around and on both off you, still they are unable to dim the burning intensity you’re facing. Surely, your heart must have skipped several beats and it’s only as you remind yourself to breath that you know you’re still here. Standing with Heimdal in a small room in the palace known in myths as Valhalla on Asgard. Heimdal, who has just said something that sounds frightfully similar to a love confession.

As times like these would have it, articulation and poetry comes to your aid: “Whaa…?” The blood rises to your face the moment you utter the less than inspired word. “I’m s-sorry, I thought you…? Are you saying…? But how could we…?” Breathing in deeply and closing your eyes stops you from rambling on. “Won’t I have to leave, regardless of what I want?”

“Maybe not. Odin has been considering having you stay as an…ambassador.” The words are testing, fishing for a response as carefully as possible.

 _Ambassador? Hell, I’d have accepted being a stable-worker or cleaner._ “So…I could stay...”

“Yes.”

Silence envelops you like velvet. Not in the absence of sound, but the chaos that has been raging inside you, the roar of worried thoughts trying to drown each other out are gone, leaving a soothing peace as each half-hearted plan and shattered solution to dissolve into nothingness.

Finally, you can meet the warm gold of Heimdal’s eyes. “With you?”

“If you will have me.” The smile is carefully optimistic. “I do not wish to imagine a life without you, my lady. Not since the day I first laid eyes on you by mere chance.”

 _Oh._ “Before the…’fore New York.”

“Aye.” He actually has the audacity to bite his bottom lip in shame. “I tried to avert my gaze. I’d been smitten by your mesmerizing nature, but who was I to spy on you? A few glances as you walked through the city was all I had, and I cherished them, knowing it would never be more.” The Bridge-Keeper’s sigh makes your hair float for a heartbeat. “Then came the day of Loki’s attack. You showed strength and courage beyond measure…I could not let you die. Not you.”

A tear has formed and now it spills onto his cheek. Gently, cupping his jaw in your palm not unlike the way he still holds you, you wipe it away.

“You didn’t tell me…because you didn’t want to force my feelings?” His soft nod prompts you to slip your arms around his waist, pulling him closer. “But I’ve come to love you anyways.”

Words aren’t needed anymore. Time doesn’t matter. Only Heimdal’s burning lips as they meet and languidly explore yours while his hands travel, one to your neck and the other to the middle of your back, pushing you flush against his strong body. Your own grip adjusts as you nearly cling on to him, fingertips digging into his shoulder and grazing his scalp.

Lips part.

Tongues dance.

Teeth nibble gently as new areas are explored, heated skin showered in kisses while fingers and hands roam freely in a fevered yet leisured devotion to the other person. At the first moan Heimdal coax from you, he freezes, worried that he may have hurt you. It’s a whimper from the loss of his action that spurs him on in an effort to pull more sounds from you.

…

As the woman stretches in her sleep beside Heimdal in the bed, he can’t help but thank the All-Fathers of old. Pulling [Y/N] closer, he knows that he now will have an unparalleled reason to revert his gaze to home.

“I love you too, my lady [Y/N].” The whisper only stirs the lose strands of hair of the woman, but as he looks upon her, he sees a smile grace her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 Honestly, it means the world to have just a single person like something I write because often it's the only feedback I get.  
> So I hope you did like it. Feel free to toss a note or come with suggestions on how I can get better. Maybe just press the kudo-button.   
> HUGS! (Unless you don't want hugs...then just big smile)


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